Nanashi
by Silvie-chan
Summary: A younger Seymour's thoughts on flowers, death, and the “salvation” of Spira.


Nanashi

By Silvie-chan

Disclaimer: Song = not mine. Final Fantasy X = not mine. Don't sue. Please.

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Summary: :::A withered bouquet. Someone put heart and soul into making this...::: A random drabble that deals with flowers, death, and the "salvation" of Spira. A little insight (coughstubbornopinioncough) into one of the game's most hated characters. Do you wish to redeem the irredeemable? If so, then please read and review. Silvie-chan

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This is... Truly odd. Garbled, strange, and the parts that are **_:::like this:::_** are the lyrics to a way-cool lullaby by the name of "Hawksong", found in the book, "Hawksong", written by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. Awesome book, sappy, romantic, and heartbreakingly sad at times. Wonderful. Somehow, it just fit in here with this poor, sad little boy's thoughts. Oh, things (_"like this"_) are like that because they're past thoughts, or something people said. Ha ha. Ph34r me and my unintelligible weirdness. _:::This:::_ is psychic communication stuff. There will be a nifty chart just before the fic so you don't get confuzzled.

Read. Review. Constructive criticism is begged for, those who give good advice will be summarily glomped and there will be much loff in the life of Silvie.

Sankyuu for clicking this link, and read on, read on, because since you've gotten this far, you might as well finish it, ne?

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**_:::Hawksong lullaby.:::_**

****

(_"Stuff people said in the past."_)

_:::Mental conversation. Woo.:::_

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_"A withered bouquet. Someone put heart and soul into making this..."_

**_:::I wish to you sunshine, my dear one, my dear one...:::_**

Stumbling through the ruins, he was looking for flowers. There was already a half-made bouquet clutched in his left hand. Pale ghost-blue eyes were blank, no more tears left to cry.__

Mama was here. Mama was gone.

...Mama was going to help him defeat Sin, and they'd both die, fading away to nothing...

But he didn't want that. Not really. As long as he had Mama with him, everything was all right. They'd laugh and cry and be together, forever.

...But Mama was gone now. It was really confusing, and made his head hurt.

He didn't want to think about it.

Death. Spirals. Spira. Salvation?

**_:::...And treetops for you to soar past...:::_**

...Pyreflies danced, and the fayth sang. An eternal serenade, always, always spiraling down, further into chaos, further into the lie.

He shook he his head, and continued his almost task of finding flowers. Mama lived here now, and Mama had always loved flowers...

He looked down, and saw his handful had somehow grown to an armful, and he couldn't pick any more. He blinked slowly.

So many flowers. Gossamer petals falling off over-large heads, drooping in sadness. Tremulous sobs, a mind cracked beyond repair. Driven mad by fear, love, isolation, and pure self-hatred.__

Not Guado, not human. He wasn't right, inside. He was sick, body, mind, and soul. He was wrong, an abomination. A hundred years ago, he would have been killed before he was born, yet somehow he was here. Always sick, always having to go see the doctors _("Don't worry, dear one... You'll be better soon... Just drink this, and it'll all be better...")_... No wonder Father hated him. No wonder Father had sent him to Baaj; he was only trouble...

_("It's for his own good, Analéa. Yours too. If you don't leave now, everything I have worked to build will be destroyed!")_

A child of peace, they had called him. Proof that Guado and human need not fight.

**_:::...I wish to you innocence, my child, my child...:::_**

(_"Never trust your father. He is mean, and he'll hate you, and do mean things to you."_)

Mama was everything. Mama was nothing. Mama was here (_"...you will become the temple for your Final Aeon..."_). Mama was gone.

He didn't understand. One moment, she'd been there, clutching his hand, and he'd been sobbing.

(_"No, no, I don't care about them! I only need you!"_)__

He didn't want her to become a fayth. All he had wanted was to be with her. She was the only one who loved him... The only one...

(_"Use me to defeat Sin... It is the only way the people will accept you..."_)

He hadn't really wanted to go on a pilgrimage. Baaj had been nice; there were flowers, and nobody was there to make fun of him, or to look at him, thinking _you are different _and _you don't belong here_. But Mama had said that they had to show Father... That they had to show him that they were more then just things to be cast away when they weren't needed anymore...

He wasn't sure what to think. Father hated him. Mother loved him. At least... That was what she had said.

**_:::...I pray you don't grow up too fast...:::_**

****

Pick the brightest blossoms, twine them together with a piece of thread picked from his sleeve.

(_"Dear, please don't pick at the embroidery... Nana worked hard to make that for you, and you know how she hates it when you do that..."_)

Oops. He had forgotten. Oh well, too late now...

He glanced at the cuff, which hung over his hands, so he wouldn't have to look at the wrongness of them (_"There's something **wrong** about that boy..."_). The once magnificent pattern of black and gold flowers was now faded and ruined, more then half of it picked out.

...He felt bad. What was Nana going to say when he got home?

Oh. He had forgotten again.

He wasn't going home.

He was going to defeat Sin, and then he was going to die.

...At least, that was he was _supposed_ to do. He couldn't really do that anymore... He had messed up, and now Mama was _really_ stuck, and it was all his fault...

All his fault. Now Father would hate him even more... He couldn't even go and die a worthy death. He was pitiful.

**_:::...Never know pain, my dear one, my dear one...:::_**

Placing the bouquets in several vases in the main room, he decided the temple looked _much_ better now.

Mama had always loved flowers after all. (_"I swear, dear one, the only things that keep me here are you, and my flowers."_) They brought color and life to someplace dead, and the temple was no exception.

Stumble up the stairs, oh, look, this one would look pretty in that wall-vase... 

"Hello, Mama," he said, in the chamber, bowing, dropping the flowers on the amber glass.

::_:Oh, my dear one... I'm so sorry...::: _she whispered, and she cried, and wept. He just smiled up at her, with his broken child's smile. 

"What's the matter, Mama? Why are you crying?" he asked. He looked worried, glassy eyes widening with a sick fear. "Is it something I did? I'm sorry, Mama! I am!"

She wouldn't stop crying. No matter what he did, or how many flowers he brought her, or how many times he told her he loved her, she _wouldn't stop crying_.

What had he done? (_"I'm so sorry, Mama!" "It's alright, my dear one... I know you are."_)

**_:::...Nor hunger nor fear nor sorrow...:::_**

****

She had told him that this wasn't right.

How? Wasn't this what she wanted? To be with him... Forever? What had he done wrong?

He was so confused... Thoughts swirled with memory, and he couldn't tell anything anymore.

So all he could do was cry. Sob, sniffle, whimper, wipe a sleeve across his face in an attempt to make it stop (_"Oh, dear one... Don't cry, love..."_).

He wanted to make it better, but he didn't know how.

_:::This isn't right... What about Sin? What about Spira? It must be saved...:::_

...Spira? Spiraling down to the darkness, drowning in the lie, Spira needed salvation...

Plans and hopes and dreams rose and fell, clattering like pebbles hitting the ground.

...But only through death, could Spira be saved.

Perhaps, oh, perhaps. Would it work? He wasn't sure.

**_:::...Never know war, my child, my child...:::_**

"Braska, lookit here!" a man was yelling, all brawn and force. Grabbed his arm, dragged him away...

"...Jecht...? What in the world is he doing here in Baaj Temple?" wondered another man, staring down at him in worry, eyes like oceans. A Summoner.

"Mama's here..." he told them dreamily. He picked at the embroidery on his sleeve. The gentle Summoner, noticed this, and took a look at it.

"That's Guado work..." he murmered, staring at him. "Who are you child, to be so far away from home...?"

"...I know that face," the man garbed in crimson (red like blood, red like death, red like pain) solemnly said. "He's Analéa's child." Cold (yet warm?) eyes stared down at him, boring into his. "You are Seymour? Jyscal's child? Gone off on a pilgrimage with your mother?"

"...Really? I thought I was Mama's..." he replied pensively, and smiled a cracked and fragile smile. "Mama loves flowers..."

"Come _on_, who cares? If the brat's here, his motha's got to be here somewhere!" the impatient man demanded. "Let's just get this tourist thing _over_ with, and get back on track!"

He didn't really like that man. Too impatient. Impulsive. He was going to die because of that, he decided. It was only natural.

"...Analéa was possessive," the gentle man murmured. "She never would have let him out of her sight." He smiled down at him again. "Where is your mother, little one?"

"She's gone," he answered truthfully, even though he didn't like it that they were talking about Mama like that. "She's here, but... She's not." He started picking at the frayed embroidery on his sleeve again, looking down at the rocky ground.

"Alright, alright, I get it now," the impatient man decided. "Motha' and kid went on tourist trip, like us. Motha' got kilt by fiends. Motha' now a fiend herself. Kay, end of story, let's go."

"That does make sense, even though it's coming from you, Jecht," the blood-man grumbled. "What to do with him though?"

"It won't take us long to reach Guadosalam," the Summoner said. "The poor boy obviously cannot continue his pilgrimage, not in this state."

"...It will take time we don't have," the blood-man grumped. "And it _is_ a long time. Several months time."

"Aw, we don't want some blue-haired brat hanging with us all the way to Zanarkand," whined the impatient one. "We'll be there before we know it, Auron!"

"It's decided then," the Summoner stated. He smiled down at him again, taking his hand. "Come along, come along... You're going home now..."

**_:::... Remember your hope for tomorrow...:::_**

Looking back, he wanted to finish making his bouquet for Mama. But he couldn't.

He had a promise to keep now. He had to save Spira. He giggled (_"Braska, somethin' 'bout that kid is **beyond** screwed up..."_). He had found out how he was going to save Spira.

Salvation through blood and death. Oh, it all made sense now! Why Summoners had to die, why the fayth had to dream...

Why there had to be a thousand years of lies, of how Yevon had _truly_ been wise.

Death was the answer. Through death, they could _cheat_ Sin, and come back again and again and again... Oh, everything made beautiful, wonderful sense now!

"I'll kill them all," he whispered to the air. "Because only through death can Spira be saved..."

And petal fell from the bouquet in the vase on the wall into a puddle of water, and the fayth of Anima sang, dreaming of a little boy who was crying because his mother loved Spira more then she loved him... __

**_Owari_**

Ha. I loff Seymour. He is teh kewl. :3 Ph34r. Okay, review now, and tell me how bad (or, perhaps, even _good_) this is, and I will loff you all forever, and perhaps make more oneshots. Would you all like that? I enjoyed writing this... Much fun indeed. Heehee. But they probably will all somehow surround Seymour and his mum, whom I have dubbed Analéa. :3 Purty name.

Heehee again. I'm sorry, but this was a heinously fun fic to write. Young!Seymour is really fun to write. Perhaps, if you're nice, I might write up a couple follow-ups to this... But only if you give me nice, constructive reviewes.

Before anyone asks, I titled this fic "Nanashi" (which means "no name") simply because I cannot think of a name. And why was this fic written? Well, first off, I was sick and tired of all the fics that pin Seymour as a fucking horny bastard. . Yes, he is obsessed, but not with Yuna. With deaaaaaaath. Death I say. And saving Spira. Through death. And all that jazz. Second, I was truly bored, and when I was replaying FFX the other day, with that little bit about the flower bouquet (that top line before the fic actually is in the game), really struck me to the heart.

Plus, I've always liked Seymour. He is teh kewl. Not arrogant, like the fics pin him, nor is he rude. XP Damn high school fics. If I could just find _one_ where he's not a stupid bastard who has the hots for Yuna... Ugh. C'mon, just label him the "freak" who prefers sitting in the corner and reading instead of being a fan of blitzball and move on... So. That's it. Sorry 'bout the rant. Hits a bit of a nerve, you see. (kills the Wakka/Lulu pairing with a FLAMING DEATH ... stubbornly sets up her Chappu/Lulu fortress, right next to her Lindsey/Darrell one)

Until then, ja ne!

Silvie-chan

**Shimmie Note**: Oh. My. Fecking. GOD. Silvie wrote something that I actually like. ARMAGEDDON IS UPON US!!! ...Ooo, song-ness...


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